Tethered By Time

I slink into the bathroom trailed by

my robe’s shadow.

The mirror reveals gray hairs lining

up on the crown of my head.

The fading brunettes of a prime lost to

time as regret stares back

at

Plummeting

expectation.

Why, mirror, do you imitate my physical compunction?

In its reflection, the clock of 4:30 reads 8:30,

or does it say half past seven?

The mirror is still judging me, but

I can’t see the gaps of time I missed.

The time I spent as a teen in the hospital

refusing to eat, wishing to die.

The sun on the cusp of the horizon says

it’s morning.

The birds in their chambers of

ruffled feathers echo

their songs on the

telephone line,

the chirping of time

scares me.

How much do I have left?

My youth wasted seeking perfection.

The clock now at three.

The mirror perches it at nine.

The thumping in my chest grows

when the mirror mocks my soft whites and grays.

The creases in my forehead breathe into the corners of my eyes,

where is the young girl

who once idolized her image in this mirror?

What contempt I have for the chore of living.

The routine march of days has made me old.

Wake up with wrinkles.

Wake up with shock.

Wake up with a souvenir to say –

I never stopped the

clock.

Time evaporates as the birds

sing.

The mirror looks on and I ask for

help to wash away the wrinkles and comb away the grays,

to give me a second chance at being young.

Tethered to the cadence

At four o’clock or eight

At three o’clock or nine.